


here and where you are

by schweet_heart



Series: Merlin Fic [197]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Pendragon Returns (Merlin), Canon Compliant, Canon Temporary Character Death, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, Immortal Merlin (Merlin), M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Canon Fix-It, Resurrection, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21754108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: Merlin is forced to let go of Arthur after the events of Camlann. When Arthur returns, all he can do is hold on.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Merlin Fic [197]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/70688
Comments: 47
Kudos: 576
Collections: Finish that Fic Merlin!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [signs taken for wonders](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18606259) by [schweet_heart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart). 



> Sequel to _signs taken for wonders_ , but can be read as a stand-alone.
> 
>   
> (from _Corpse Song_ by Margaret Atwood)
> 
> Please do not repost elsewhere or list my fic on Goodreads (or any other similar spaces).

The last time Merlin touches him, it’s to arrange his body for the funeral.

The irony of this task does not escape him. Even now, he can feel Arthur in his arms like a phantom weight, his head resting against Merlin’s chest, his hair silky and soft where it had pressed against Merlin’s skin. He had been warm then, alive and breathing, and with his last breath (almost his last breath) he had begged to be held, something he had never done in all of their long years together. Merlin could not have resisted such a request even if he’d wanted to, but now that Arthur is gone he thinks he may never again be able to inhale without that pressure on his chest. Might never stop feeling the final touch that had never quite reached his cheek.

He lays out Arthur carefully. It is an awkward task, even with magic, made all the more so by the tears that won’t stop flowing, and he finds himself caught between a wish that it were over and the knowledge that it must at some point end. He doesn’t want to be alone. He spreads out Arthur’s cloak on the little boat, folds Arthur’s hands neatly at his chest, and then lays his hand on the cool brow, choking out the words that will send the king to his final resting place. Arthur’s expression, at least, is peaceful as the vessel sets off, but Merlin’s is a blur of tears and regret as the boat begins to move.

When at last he blinks, the weather has turned, and the sun is already sinking in the Western sky. He stumbles to his knees on the shore of the lake, cool water seeping through his breeches, and his mind is empty of everything except for Arthur. His fingers curl into the mud, aching with the remembered stiffness of armour in winter; with the cramped desire to reach out and touch that he had closed inside his fists again and again. His shoulders are heavy with the burden of all the things they could have been to each other and never were.

Arthur had held him only once, that Merlin knows of. Gwaine had told him about it after the fact, teasing Merlin about Arthur’s incessant devotion to his friend, elbowing him in the ribs and laughing until he’d seen the look on Merlin’s face. Silly now to think he’d tried to hide it, even from himself; sillier to imagine anyone could have looked at him and not known. Of course Gwaine knew. The question was always whether Arthur had also known, and Merlin had never asked him.

The quiet torments him. The boat is out of reach now, and in a moment the island, too, is swallowed up by the mist. Somewhere away back over the hills, Camelot’s bells toll a bleak farewell, and Merlin’s fingers close, reflexively, over empty air. This is the final certainty of death, which he must live with.

He will never touch Arthur again.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Arthur feels when he returns is Merlin’s hands, dragging him roughly onto the shore of the lake. Merlin’s fingers are caught in Arthur’s armour, hooked into the chainmail like claws, and Merlin’s face looks—there’s no other word for it—looks terrified, wild with an anguish unlike grief, his dark hair plastered to his skin and his damp clothes dripping as he hauls Arthur bodily out of the water.

“It’s all right, Merlin,” Arthur tries to say, hoping to comfort, but Merlin just looks more frightened than before, kneeling down next to Arthur as the king begins to cough. His entire body feels waterlogged, even his lungs, even his mouth, and Merlin has to pound him on the back a few times before he can breathe, his chest stinging into newfound life. “I didn’t _drown_.”

“You came damn close,” Merlin says, and hits him again. “You ass. You were supposed to have a _boat_.”

It’s been a long time, he knows, since Camlann. Arthur can see it in Merlin’s face, his clothes, hear it in the unfamiliar cadence of his speech. As soon as he’s on his feet again, he grips hold of Merlin’s shoulders and hugs him, tightening his arms until Merlin’s garbled, nonsensical words trail off into a strangled gasp.

“How many years?” Arthur asks, not letting go (Merlin has already stopped squirming). “How many years have I been gone?”

“Hundreds,” Merlin says. He looks the same, and yet he’s not: pale, bedraggled, very young. His ears are nipped red by cold and he’s starting to shiver. “Over a thousand.”

“And you’ve been waiting all this time?”

The words are the same, and yet they’re not. Merlin’s hands reach to untangle his gorget, spreading the mail over Arthur’s chest. Merlin’s hands drop lower, faltering slightly, then curl themselves into the leather of his belt and settle. Arthur breathes out slowly. Merlin lifts grey eyes to his.

“I didn’t want you to feel like you were alone.”

Merlin’s mouth is the only warm part of his body, and Arthur exploits it ruthlessly, cupping his hands to Merlin’s cheeks and plundering inside. He’s not sure if Merlin’s crying or not but he tastes like salt, like an unfinished thought he should have shared years ago, and it’s possible this is the conclusion to a conversation they’ve been having as long as they’ve been alive. Maybe longer than that.

“I should say thank you,” Arthur murmurs, and Merlin half laughs, half hiccups, digging his fingers into Arthur’s elbows and holding on tight. It couldn’t have taken centuries for them to come to this, because it feels like only yesterday that Arthur had been lying in Merlin’s arms, listening to breath and time run out. He’d loved Merlin then, impossibly, and he loves him still; the one unaltered truth of any lifetime. “Or maybe apologise.”

“You already have,” Merlin tells him, and he leans into Arthur’s body, consuming him with mouth and hands and eyes. “You came back, didn't you?”

“So I did,” Arthur says, and holds him close.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments :)


End file.
